


Escape Artist

by sam_erotica



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Prison AU, convict!Jared, convict!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_erotica/pseuds/sam_erotica
Summary: "You touching yourself now, Stevie?"Jensen can barely force out a breathy "Yeah.""Good. I want you to. I wanna hear you fall apart."





	Escape Artist

That scratching noise, Jensen is fairly sure, is gonna be the last thing he hears before he dissociates, completely loses all self control, and pulls that fucking wall down with his bare hands.

That may be hyperbole, but whatever. Some people in his life probably think he'd actually do it.

Shifting slightly to the left on his creaking pallet bed, Jensen reaches out to slam the flat of his palm on the wall two times.

 _"Shit!"_ A surprisingly gentle voice from the next cell.

"Keep it down, Papillion," he growls. "Some of us need our beauty sleep."

The scratching stops. Jensen sleeps.

***

Jensen is bored. He counts the watermarks on the ceiling for the third time that day. He loses count of push-ups after 75. He woke up angry, the kind of angry that gets you in trouble in the general population. Punch-your-celly-in-the-face-because-you-can angry, so maybe bored is an improvement.

He's already jerked himself to the edge of orgasm twice, and is thinking maybe this third time he'll let himself come. Mind wandering, he wonders what the guy next door looks like, if his hair is shaggy or trimmed, if maybe he's taller than Jensen (please, God) and what his eyes would look like from below as he swallowed Jensen down.

There it is. Orgasm rips through him like a freight train and he growls it out, chest heaving, throat burning.

He barks out a laugh when he realizes that if he can hear the guy next door, the guy next door can probably hear him. Probably just heard everything.

He knocks on the wall that separates their cells, hoping this knock is slightly more polite than the last one.

"Hey, buddy," he calls out.

The scratching stops. No answer, though.

"Hey. You there, Papillion?"

The voice, when it comes floating through the plaster, is softer than Jensen expected, considering the bite in the words.

_"You looking for afterglow or something? I'm not your fucking girlfriend."_

More scratching. Jensen is speechless, flops his head back against the wall, too boneless to respond. He wipes come from between his fingers with the hem of his shirt.

***

There's no good reason to keep trying to talk to the guy. He obviously doesn't want to make friends. Who makes friends in solitary, anyway? Prison is bad enough without making the mistake of trusting people.

But Jensen keeps trying, for some reason. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he's intrigued by the surly attitude and the tunneling sounds. Last night, after that magnificent brush-off, he dreamt about Fontaine and his brilliant plan to escape the Nazis by slipping out of his cell through a hole he made with a spoon.

Spend long enough in this place and you get familiar with all the great escape stories.

A voice drifts into his consciousness.

_"Why do you call me that?"_

"Hm?" So articulate.

_"I don't have a tattoo of a butterfly. Escape From Alcatraz is a much better movie, anyway. Clint Eastwood was so hot in that. You can call me Morris."_

Interesting. Jensen's little butterfly has gotten downright chatty.

"No way are you comparing yourself to Eastwood," he laughs.

_"Why not. You can't see me. I could be anyone."_

Fair point. He imagines the guy next door as rugged, dirty jeans hanging open while he presses Jensen into the mattress face-first. Blood rushes south.

"Then I'll be Steve McQueen, and try my very best not to get us all killed. How 'bout that?"

Laughter rings through the wall, deep and resonant, confident. Sexy.

_"Sounds good to me, Stevie."_

***

The scratching starts up again the next morning, right after a dismal breakfast. Jensen had eaten in bed, leaning up against their shared wall and trying not to taste any of it, smiling to himself at every overheard exclamation:

_"What the fuck is this?"_

_"Hey, Cowboy, is this even food?"_

_"Jesus Christ."_

_"Hey, Stevie, you still alive after that?"_

Jensen knocks out a 'shave-and-a-haircut' against the wall before setting his own plate aside. 'Morris' responds with 'two-bits.' Jensen is really starting to like this guy.

_"What's your bid, Stevie?"_

It's gonna be this conversation, then. Jensen hates this conversation.

"Seven. I'm five into it already. Weapons. You?"

 _"Three for assault. Self defense, but you knew I was gonna say that."_ The smile is audible. _"Just got here last month, but don't worry, this isn't my first."_

"And you're in the hole already? You make good time."

There's a long pause. The scratching slows to a crawl. Jensen is just beginning to wonder if their conversation is over when he hears the soft confession.

_"Just because I'm gay, it doesn't mean anyone can do whatever they want to me. I'm always gonna fight back."_

He sounds weary, sad. Jensen doesn't know what to do with the sudden desire to hug him.

"Good, man. You take care of you," he says instead.

Jensen doesn't know what else to say for several long moments, until he hears his own voice:

"After I came out, I broke more of my own fingers on other people's faces than I thought possible."

His neighbor huffs out a laugh.

 _"I know what you mean."_ A shuffling sound and then his voice sounds closer. _"My name is Jared, by the way."_

"Jensen."

***

It's day three of his little retreat when Jensen realizes this doesn't really count as solitary.

They shouldn't be able to hear each other. They shouldn't be able to chat about movies and food and breaking the noses of homophobes. He really shouldn't be pressing his ear to the wall at 1:47 am to absorb every audible morsel of what sounds like Jared stroking his own cock, slow and sure.

Jensen shifts on his cot, soaking in every low moan, every sharp intake of breath. Jared sounds like he's getting close to erupting hot and slick all over his own fingers. At that thought, Jensen lets out an involuntary whine before he is able to stop himself.

 _"Ah, fuck,"_ he hears from next door. _"You're awake over there?"_

Jensen doesn't know how to respond, or if he should. Too late to pretend he's asleep?

 _"I know you're not asleep,"_ Jared breathes, haltingly. _"You're listening to me milk my cock, aren't you? Like what you hear, Stevie?"_

The end of his sentence is punctuated by a long, low growl. His voice gets clearer, like he's turned his face into the wall, like he's trying to press all the way through it.

 _"Oh, god, Jensen,"_ he keens as he comes.

"Jesus, fuck, Jared," Jensen replies in a whisper. He doesn't notice his hand inside his own pants until he realizes he's imagining it's Jared's. Jared's firm grip on his rock-hard dick. The fingers of Jared's other hand wrapped around his neck good and tight. Jared speaks into the wall, breath heavy and thick, panting.

_"You touching yourself now, Stevie?"_

Jensen can barely force out a breathy "Yeah."

_"Good. I want you to. I wanna hear you fall apart."_

He's pretty close already, as Jared keeps up a running commentary of filth through the plaster separating them. Just as the fingers of his left hand start wandering back to tease at his rim he hears _"...and shove into your ass so hard you'll taste me in your throat..."_

Jensen howls like an animal as he comes. The rush of blood in his ears blocks out all sound until, gradually, be begins to hear Jared. Laughing.

_"You like that, Stevie? Huh, you want me to fuck you?"_

"Bitch."

 _"Nah, that's you, I think."_ Jensen can hear the smile in his voice, accompanied by slow lazy scratching on the other side of the wall.

"What the fuck are you drawing over there anyway?" Jensen isn't sure if he really wants the answer. He's started to like the idea of one of them tunneling out of this hole, and maybe they'd meet up somewhere later, in classic Shawshank Redemption style. Jared would certainly be Dufresne. Jensen has no illusions about himself. He's definitely guilty of his crimes.

But his post-orgasmic brain is so, so curious.

_"It's a self portrait. I'm the prettiest man I know, who else should I draw?"_

Jensen laughs, and wishes he could see it. He'd like to be able to recognize Jared on the outside.

_"Don't worry, baby, you'll know who I am. I'm quite tall."_

"Lots of people are tall, Morris."

_"I'm the tallest, Stevie. You'll see."_

**Author's Note:**

> "Celly" = cell mate  
> "Cowboy" = correctional officer  
> "Bid" = length of sentence  
> "The hole" = solitary confinement


End file.
